


Until the Mist Clears - DraMione

by TheGraveyardChild



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-12
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-10-31 01:06:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10888659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGraveyardChild/pseuds/TheGraveyardChild
Summary: This is a DraMione FanFiction. The first chapter is just an attention grabber.Just over six years have come and gone since the Battle of Hogwarts, and in that time, the Wizarding World has endured peace. When a former Death Eater breaks loose from Azkaban and begins changing the innocent into werewolves, that all changes. The most unlikely of pairs must work together to bring about his downfall. Can they do this without killing one another or worse, falling in love? Can they do this without falling victim to the curse of lycanthropy?I do not own anything to do with the Wizarding World of Harry Potter or the characters. They all belong to JK Rowling. I simply own the plot. Happy reading.





	1. Summary

"Malfoy?" she asked, the irritation in her voice quite evident.

What is Merlin's name was Draco Malfoy doing in front of her apartment at midnight? She approached him in order to get a better look at him. She was quite sure that he was thoroughly drunk; she could smell the alcohol emanating from him from meters away. Of course, there were other telltale signs. His posture was slouched and unsteady. His clothes were rumpled and unkempt. His hair was disheveled. Those piercing grey eyes of his were dilated. Yes, he was quite drunk. Tom must have just kicked him out of the Leaky Cauldron. The question was... Why the bloody hell was he in front of her apartment?

"Granger!" he drawled. He hiccuped directly after.

Oh, yes, he was just as smooth as he had been back in Hogwarts. How attractive. "What in Merlin's name are you doing here?"

"I 'unno," he stammered, his brow furrowing in confusion. He was absolutely sloshed. "Figured I'd find a quick shag before work t'morrow."

"Sod off, Malfoy. You're a drunken prat... Let's go," Hermione grumbled, wrapping an arm around his waist. She took his arm and laid it across her shoulders. She started off towards the stairs at the back of Flourish and Blotts that led to her apartment.

"Gettin' a little frisky there, aren' you, Granger," Malfoy drawled, a smirk spreading across his lips.

"Only in your dreams, Malfoy."

"I wouldn't dream about fucking a mudblood," he said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

 


	2. Author's Note

**This is a DraMione fanfiction. I repeat for all of you in the back row... This is a FANFICTION. It is FICTION. Don't get on my case about noncanonical changes. I have changed some things, fudged some dates. I am an immense Harry Potter fan. I will get my details down to a T if it is possible, but there are things that even I will change.**

**This takes place after the battle of Hogwarts. All characters that died during the battle, unless otherwise stated, are DEAD. Sorry. That means Fred, too.**

**My updating schedule is a little random, but I do intend to finish this if I can.**

**This is my first DraMione fanfiction, but this is not my first rodeo with writing. Do not get on my case. I know what I'm doing. I've read enough fanfictions to know what I should and should not do.**

**I hate to be that dick of a writer, but I did need to get that out there. And without further ado, I present to you 'Until the Mist Clears'.**

**Thanks for reading.**


	3. One

**Department of Magical Law Enforcement**

_A combination of police and justice facilities that has power over all other departments except the Department of Mysteries_

**_________________________________________ **

_**Hermione Granger** _

The paper crinkled beneath her fingers as her appendages tightened in a vice-like grip as her brown eyes scanned the headline of the Daily Prophet. The words blurred and swam before her as her eyes skimmed over them. It couldn't be happening. It _shouldn't_ be happening. She had done everything within her power to ensure that this would _never_ happen again. What had gone wrong? Her plans had been foolproof, or so she thought. That was _obviously_ not the case, she realized, after looking at the headline. She hadn't been notified of this incident. No one had thought to even _mention_ it to her. A word hadn't been breathed in her direction. How news such as this hadn't gotten to her throughout the day was beyond her, but in all of the questions and hysteria, there was but one fact. Merlin, her department was going to have hell to pay in the morning.

"Why didn't they notify me?" she snapped, slamming down the paper on the table before her.

Hermione Jean Granger ran her hands over her weary face in order to shove away some of the stress and anxiety that hid behind her tired features. The night had been so calm and cheerful. It had taken an early edition of the following morning's Prophet, however, to send her evening into ruins. Her carefully constructed system was crashing down around her, and she was beyond frustrated. She was helpless towards fixing it until the following morning, and even then she was unsure if she could. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement would be a mess in the morning, and everyone would be coming to her for answers. Those answers were some she herself was unsure that she could answer. Still, she'd grin and bear through it like she always did.

"I am the _head of the Department_ ," she snapped, snatching up the paper once more. The face on the cover of the Prophet stared back at her with an evil glint in his eyes, and finding that she couldn't stand to look at it for another moment, she tossed it back down again. It was a constant game of picking up and throwing it to the table. She couldn't decide which she preferred. Having it open to the rest of the world where everyone could see her mistakes or in her hand where those eyes seemed to only focus on her. "I am the first _bloody_ person they should notify!"

"I shouldn't even have this yet, 'Mione," a George Weasley said, setting down a fresh cup of tea before her. The ginger's eyes flicked briefly to the paper before falling back to her. "I've only got it because I know a guy, and he owed me a favor."

"My department would have already known this. They would have been the _first_ to know. They _should_ have informed me by now. I have no idea what is running through those thick heads of theirs, but Harry won't know what has hit him in the morning..." she seethed. She picked up the teacup from the table and cradled it in her hands. The warmth quickly seeped through her stiff fingers. She hadn't realized how cold her appendages had become until she touched the searing porcelain.

"They might have avoided telling you for your own good. You work too hard, 'Mione. When is the last time you had a day off?"

"What do you mean? Today I was off. I was off the entire weekend. You were with me," Hermione said.

"Working at the shop does not mean you have been away from work, 'Mione, and you know it. You've been _working at the shop_."

"I find it relaxing..." she said, trailing off a bit. She tilted her cup to her lips and grimaced as the hot liquid scalded her. She pushed past the sensation, however, and took a deep sip.

"Hermione, you were very nearly pulling out your hair earlier when some kid let a pygmy puff loose," George deadpanned. "You've practically got a receding hairline already."

Hermione set down her cup and allowed her hands to fly to her forehead. Surely she did not have a receding hairline. She was too young, and the effects of pulling out one's hair were catastrophic. Surely she would have noticed balding spots around her face.

"Blimey, I was only joking, 'Mione, but if that doesn't show stress, then I don't know what else does. I'm worried, and I'm sure I'm not the only one."

George was so serious when he had to be. She missed his joking manner that he put on when the store was open. Seeing it now even in small doses was a welcome sight. Still, the older brother-like qualities that he displayed to her when she was tired beyond relief were more than she could have ever asked for. She would never request him to fall back to his old habits only to please her. He needed time to find it in himself to change on his own. They all did after the war, and some simply took more time to grow than others.

The woman let her head fall to the table as a loud groan escaped her lips. Yes, George was correct. She was stressed beyond means she thought existed. But how could she not be when put in such positions? She was the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and she had hardly turned twenty-five years old. She was too young to endure all of this. It was far too taxing to be in charge of an entire department. She had hardly managed her two best friends whilst hunting for Horcruxes. It had just been the three of them then. How she had expected to run an entire department that focused on the capture and incarceration of dark wizards a good majority of the time was beyond her. She knew these laws inside and out, but still, she was stressed. Adding their current predicament to the mix had been the worse curveball thrown in her direction yet.

"That's not the point, George. My stress doesn't _matter_ as head of the Department. This is my job, and last I checked, I've always thrived under pressure. I only thrive, however, when I know _everything_. They could have just owled me here at the shop."

"This is your job, yes, but sometimes you don't _need_ to know everything all at once..." George trailed off. There was a certain hesitance to his voice that Hermione couldn't exactly explain.

"I am the _head of the Department_. It is my _job_ to know everything. How do you expect me to address the public without understanding what is going on?"

Hermione snatched up the Daily Prophet once again and allowed her brown eyes to scan over the headline.

**'NOTORIOUS DEATH EATHER AND WEREWOLF FENRIR GREYBACK ESCAPED FROM AZKABAN'**

She shuddered at the words. She was at a loss as to how he had managed to escape. The last five years had gone so smoothly without the dementors at the prison. They had wizards posted each night, and he had been monitored by at _least_ three armed wizards while in each transformation during the full moon. It should have been impossible for him to escape, but that is what they said about Voldemort returning. He shouldn't have escaped, yet, he had.

She sat back in her chair and sighed heavily. Her gaze was focused on the picture of Greyback on the front cover of the Prophet. Those beady eyes just bore into her soul. There was something about them that set her on edge. After a few more prolonged moments of the staring competition with the photograph, she had to turn away.

"I should be going, George... It's nearly midnight, and I've got to be at the Ministry early tomorrow morning for the briefing on whatever _this_ is," she said, pushing her chair away from the table. She glanced at her tea, deciding to abandon it. She couldn't stomach the fluid anyways. There was a pit at her center that she assumed wouldn't be leaving her anytime soon.

George stood with her. "I'll walk you out."

The pair exited George's apartment above _Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes_ and made their way downstairs. Once at the doors, George turned towards her. He held a serious expression in place of the smile she only wished he would wear.

"Promise me you'll be careful, 'Mione; a man like that will hold grudges against those who fought against him in the war. If I do remember correctly, you blasted him into a wall before Professor Trelawney dropped a crystal ball on his head," he said, a smile tugging on his lips. It faded quickly, however. "Neville, Professor Trelawney. Anyone who he could have some grudge against are safely protected by the wards of Hogwarts. They have Harry, the boy her who defeated the Dark Lord not once but twice. You... You only have your apartment and whatever defensive spells you put around the place. "

"George, I only live down the street. I'll be fine," she assured him.

The ginger placed a hand on her shoulder, his expression hardening. "'Mione, you're family to me, you and Harry both. I can't help but worry. If Greyback got to you... He holds grudges, 'Mione, and I don't want to see you hurt. You're just as much of a sister to me as Ginny. I can't... Our family can't lose anyone else..."

George trailed off, his eyes avoiding hers. He was growing more and more distant by the second. He was thinking of Fred. Hermione took both of his hands in her and offered him the most comforting smile that she could manage.

"I'll be fine, George. I was called the most brilliant witch of my age for a reason, you know."

"I know," he said, his features softening ever so slightly. "Still, I don't want you to turn into Lavender Brown. She's hardly a shell of what she used to be after Greyback's attack, and she isn't even a full-blooded werewolf. I don't see her all that often, but when I do... She's not the same as she was, 'Mione, and I couldn't watch that happen to you. Something like that is scarring."

"It won't George," she said, offering him a smile. "I promise."

"At least let me walk you home? I'd rather be safe than sorry," he asked that same concern lighting in his eyes.

"That's unnecessary, George. Greyback wouldn't show his face here just yet... It's too soon. It's too dangerous. I'll be fine. It's just down the road," she said, offering him a smile. "Goodnight, George."

"Goodnight Hermione."

Hermione turned away from the male and started down the street, her wand in her hand. The cobbled roads were a little uneven under her feet, but after many years of walking these streets, she had become accustomed to them. And with them being entirely barren so late into the night, she made her way down them with ease. As she was about to round the bend to fall out of sight of _Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes_ , she turned and waved goodbye to George. And then she was gone, traveling down the street towards her little apartment. Everything was silent around her. It was late on a Sunday evening. The majority of the wizarding population had work the next morning. She didn't expect to see anyone else out and about. Still, it left the usually lively street in a ghostly light.

The witch walked slowly, one hand at her side and the other firmly holding onto the shaft of her wand. Her ears were alert and her eyes were trained on the smallest movement in the shadows, especially as she passed the entry way to Knockturn Alley. Even passing by was a miserable experience. What lurked down there... She did not want to know. Hermione tugged her sweater tightly around herself. Even in the heat of the late August evening, she felt cold passing the street. She knew some of the worst folks were down that way, and she had no intentions of running into them, especially with someone like Greyback on the loose.

Just as she was nearing Flourish and Blotts, the shop in which she lived above, a figure emerged from the shadows. Her first thoughts were of Fenrir Greyback. He had figured out where she lived and was coming to exact his revenge on her. Maybe she should have taken George up on his offer. _No._ She was Hermione Granger. She could handle a werewolf like Greyback. If it was Greyback. She couldn't go blindly hexing whoever stood in front of her. That would look absolutely horrendous to the Prophet and her department.

The witch whispered a quiet _lumos_ under her breath, and the tip of her wand lit up with a bright glow. Her features first read with shock and then complete and utter disgust.

" _Malfoy?_ " she asked, the irritation in her voice quite evident.

What is Merlin's name was Draco Malfoy doing in front of her apartment at midnight? She approached him in order to get a better look at him. She was quite sure that he was thoroughly drunk; she could _smell_ the alcohol emanating from him from meters away. Of course, there were other telltale signs. His posture was slouched and unsteady. His clothes were rumpled and unkempt. His hair was disheveled. Those piercing grey eyes of his were dilated. Yes, he was quite drunk. Tom must have just kicked him out of the Leaky Cauldron. The question was... Why the bloody hell was he in front of her apartment?

"Granger!" he drawled. He hiccuped directly after.

Oh, yes, he was just as smooth as he had been back in Hogwarts. How _attractive_. "What in Merlin's name are you doing here?"

"I 'unno," he stammered, his brow furrowing in confusion. He was absolutely sloshed. "Figured I'd find a quick shag before work t'morrow."

Hermione scoffed. He was disgusting. "And you call yourself an Auror. Act professional. Get home and sleep. I want you in early tomorrow for a briefing. The lot of you have hell to pay in the morning."

Malfoy groaned audibly. "You mudbloods nev'r know-" a hiccup "-'ow to have any fun. Can't leta man celebrate, can ya'?" he whined.

"Get out of my way, Malfoy. I want to go to bed," she snapped, ignoring the slur that was thrown her way. She didn't have the energy to threaten him with hexes and curses.

"What's wrong, Granger? Are you put off 'cause Weaselbee is off on a case-" another hiccup "-and you are too guilty to shag anyone else?"

Hermione's temper flared and she shoved him back with the hand that wasn't holding her wand. "I'll have you know that my personal life is none of your business, and neither is who or who I do not _shag_."

He stumbled backward but managed to remain upright. "You've always beena feisty one," he drawled, that not-in-the-least-bit-charming smirk spreading onto his lips once more.

She scowled as she watched him with her calculating brown gaze. He swayed from side to side in front of her. He was far too drunk to apparate home, and she knew that there was no way he could walk back to Malfoy Manor like that. If Tom had kicked him out of the Leaky Cauldron, then there wasn't a chance of him getting a room there. After the slur he sent her way, she was tempted to leave him in the streets of Diagon Alley to find his way home himself, but her moral compass was too strong. As much as she hated him, she couldn't do that to him. As one of her Aurors, Hermione hated to acknowledge that she was the one who had to become responsible for him. She hadn't the slightest clue as to the location of Malfoy Manor; she wasn't going to take him there for that reason. Her sofa it was, then.

"Sod off, Malfoy. You're a drunken prat... Let's go," Hermione grumbled, wrapping an arm around his waist. She took his arm and laid it across her shoulders. She started off towards the stairs at the back of Flourish and Blotts that led to her apartment.

"Gettin' a little frisky there, aren' you, Granger," Malfoy drawled, a smirk spreading across his lips.

"Only in your dreams, Malfoy."

"I wouldn't dream about fucking a _mudblood_ ," he said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

She really wanted to smack him, but as his boss, that would be less than professional. She snorted and ignored his comments as she struggled to get him up the stairs. She struggled to unlock her door with his weight pressing against her. And, Merlin, did he reek of firewhiskey. It was almost as bad walking into the Hog's Head after an Irish win in Quidditch. She nearly wretched as she forced him through the threshold of the flat. She quickly deposited him on her sofa. She wasn't surprised to find that, with the amount of alcohol in his system, he was out like a light. Hermione wasn't so lucky.

Before bed, she sent out her Patronus to each auror in her department that wasn't already on a case, informing them that they were to come to the Ministry early the following morning. A briefing on a new incident was to follow. She brushed her teeth, just as she was raised to do. She then laid down in her bed to sleep.

Sleep did not come.

No matter how hard she tried, she found it particularly unfathomable that Draco Malfoy was asleep on her couch in her living room. That and the ever-present threat of Fenrir Greyback made sleep positively impossible. Oh, the aurors were certainly going to have one hell of a morning.


	4. Two

**The Auror Department**

_A main division of Department of Magical Law Enforcement which specifically deals with the capture of dark Witches and Wizards._

_** _______________________________________ ** _

**_Hermione Granger_ **

The human brain has a funny way of working. Anxiety and stress have the ability to disrupt the natural sleep patterns of a person. You can lie down early, earlier than usual, at least, and never find sleep when stress is plaguing your mind. When in a fit of restlessness, rest just seems impossible to come by. You can try to keep your eyes open. You can count sheep. You can do any of those muggle tricks to try and fall asleep. Tonics and herbs can be used, too, but they only grant temporary relief. But in the hours of the morning when it is time to awaken from slumber and get ready for the day to come, that is when exhaustion hits its hardest. Sleep only comes around once the alarm clock goes off for the first time. Oh, the human brain was a cruel, cruel organ. It never seemed to want to cooperate with the will of its owner.

Hermione found that this was to be her tragic fate was on Monday morning. She had spent the entire night tossing and turning and snatching up her wand at the littlest sounds. She was on edge. She hadn't been this way for so many years, no since the days after the war when nightmares plagued her. Those noises in the night, they startled her and reminded her of those days. Once, she had even stepped out of her room, wand at the ready, to investigate a loud thud only to find that Malfoy had fallen onto the floor. At first, she was confused as to why he was there at first, but then she remembered, in all of her deliria, that she had put him there. She managed to wrestle him back onto the sofa before lying down once more.

Sleep never came, not until her hand thudded down on the old alarm clock on her bedside table. It was then that her exhaustion hit like a full grown hippogriff. Her body felt like lead beneath her sheets. She could hardly lift her head to glance at the time that read four-thirty a.m. She never minded waking early. It was simply mornings like these that made her regret her every life decision. Dragging herself out of bed was the only way she was going to start the coffee for the morning. Usually, she wasn't one to drink the bitter liquid, but this was going to be a ruthless day. She'd need it if she wanted to keep her sanity. Hermione wrapped a thin throw blanket around her shoulders and groggily stepped out of her room, her wand in hand. In the dim morning light, she could see just a few feet ahead of her. She muttered a quiet _lumos_ and started out of her bedroom.

The flat was silent aside from the occasional soft snores coming from the sofa. Malfoy clearly wasn't up yet, and with the hangover he was surely going to have, she wasn't sure she wanted him to be. He'd only complain about the throbbing in his skull and nausea he felt. It was his fault. He shouldn't have gotten entirely trashed when he knew he'd have work the next morning. She didn't bother him as she went to the coffee pot and filled it with water and coffee grounds. After setting the device up, she leaned against the countertop. The stimulating aroma of coffee filled her apartment not long after, but she was too lost in her thoughts to notice or care.

What was she supposed to tell the aurors in the Department? She hardly knew what was going on. She was going to be one of the least qualified people to speak on the subject. She had learned of the escape from an article in the Prophet, a newspaper notorious for only caring about their sales. The article itself was written by Rita Skeeter, she might add. After the incident during her fourth year, she was hesitant to believe a word that came from that woman's quill. Still, she wouldn't write a false piece that would provoke mass hysteria in the general public, would she? She'd be held liable for something of that caliber. She had another option, though. Surely she could speak to Harry before the briefing began. As Head of the Auror Department, maybe he knew some of the details of the situation. He would have been the first on the case. Yes, he was who she'd speak to first. She only hoped that he'd be there earlier than the rest.

Hermione pushed herself off the counter and slowly walked over to the window. An owl was due to deliver the morning edition of the Daily Prophet at fifteen minutes until the hour, just as it did every morning, and as usual, she was going to retrieve it. She, however, was not interested in reading the paper that morning; she already knew the headline and the horrors she was going to face for the rest of the day. She opened the window and looked around in the early morning light. As expected, the own was flying her way, a copy of the prophet in its talons. It landed gracefully on the windowsill and held out the paper to her. Hermione took the paper from the owl only to keep with her morning habits, for she was a creature of them. The bird continued to hold out its leg to her, however, as if expecting payment. And he probably was. She picked up a sickle from the small basket she kept by the window for that purpose and a biscuit from the basket right beside that one. She gave the tawny owl both the biscuit as well as a sickle for the paper and shut the window when it took off. The coffee pot pinging in the background brought her attention back to the kitchen.

The walk back seemed longer than it should have. The weight of the Prophet in her hand seemed too heavy. The stressors of life were drawing closer as the morning passed by. The world seemed to be settling down on her shoulders, and she had no intentions of fixing it just yet. She had the entire day to worry about her problems, though. For now, she just wanted to wake herself up and have a nice cup of coffee. She tossed the paper down onto the table without even sparing it a glance. She didn't want to see those beady eyes glaring back at her anymore, either. They had done enough of that the night previous Instead she grabbed a mug from the cupboard and poured herself a cup of coffee. After adding milk and sugar, she sat back down at the table.

Just as she tilted the mug to her lips to take a sip, Hermione heard a groan from the sofa. She quickly sipped the hot liquid before setting it back down onto the table, her brown gaze flicking towards the sitting room. She pulled her blanket tightly around herself and watched as Malfoy sat upright, realizing that he wasn't in his own home. He seemed genuinely confused and concerned about his current surroundings. For that reason, she decided not to inform him of her presence. She found it rather amusing to watch her frantically look around in search of his wand which lay on the coffee table just in front of him. She found it absolutely hilarious to see the scared look in his eyes. He clearly did not remember running into her the night previous. The effects of alcohol have such marvelous results. She watched him stand up and look around in the grey morning light until his eye found her at the table. His brows furrowed and he opened his mouth to speak.

"Granger?" he asked, his voice coming out in a scratchy whisper.

"Good morning, Malfoy," she said, taking her coffee into her hands once more. She took a nice long sip before standing from her seat, her mug still in hand and her blanket draped around her shoulders. "Would you like a cup of coffee?" She may have had a great dislike towards the man, but he was in her home, and she had no intentions of being an inhospitable host.

He ignored her question. "Where the hell am I?"

"My flat," she said, taking a second mug from the cupboard. She poured the steaming, dark liquid into the ceramic. "Do you take milk and sugar in your coffee?"

This time he did not ignore her question. The thought of coffee must have been too alluring to ignore. "Milk, no sugar," he said. She heard his footsteps enter the kitchen behind her. "Why am I here? What the hell happened last night?"

Hermione hummed to herself for a moment, pouring milk into the mug on top of the coffee. She picked up a spoon and stirred the contents before turning back to the table, both mugs in her hands. She set his down on the table and sat. She took a long sip of her coffee before she answered him.

"I was coming home last night, and I found you outside of _Flourish and Blotts_ , absolutely sloshed. That wasn't very professional of you as an auror, might I add."

"I didn't ask you to critique my professionalism, Granger. I asked you why I was _here_ ," he said sourly, taking the mug she had set on the table for him. He did not take the seat across from her, choosing to stand instead. One hand held his mug whilst the other massaged his temples. He was very clearly hungover.

"Well, seeing as how you were thoroughly incapacitated, you would have gotten yourself splinched if you had tried to apparate," she said in a single breath. "And I'm neither well versed on the location of Malfoy Manor, nor would I like to be, so I figured, because we were just outside of my flat, that I'd bring you here."

"And where exactly is _here_?" he asked, cradling his coffee in his two hands. His wand, she noticed, had been stowed back in the waistband of his jeans.

"Above Flourish and Blotts."

Malfoy scoffed. "Only you would find enjoyment out of living above a bookshop."

"Well," she said, her voice hitching slightly. "I'll have you know that it is actually quite convenient. When I'm on a case-"

"Granger, quite frankly, I couldn't give a damn as to whether or not it's convenient. I was just stating a fact," Malfoy snapped. He then paused in thought. He seemed to be contemplating his next words carefully. "I don't exactly remember what happened last night, but with my record for... one offs... We didn't... You know... Did we?"

Malfoy trailed off, leaving Hermione to guess at what he actually meant. Her brows furrowed as her mind set to work on deciphering his words. It clicked a moment later, and she gasped in horror and disgust.

"Oh, Merlin, no. _Never_ ," she stammered, her cheeks flaring a bright crimson in the gray morning light. "That would have been horrific."

Maloy snorted. "I can't help but say I'm hurt. I didn't realize you'd think me that bad of a shag, Granger," he said, gracing her with that signature sarcastic smirk of his before tilting his mug to hips lips to hide it from view.

Once again, Hermione's temper flared. After what he had said the night before, he didn't have the right to say that, even in a joking matter. It didn't matter that he didn't remember it. It was still him that had said it.

"After last night's display, that isn't even coming to mind as a consideration. Don't you think I'd _ever_ consider something like _that_ with you. _Especially_ with _you_."

"What did I say last night?" he asked, his figure stilling instantly. He seemed apprehensive. And he should. He was in the same room as a very temperamental witch who could hex him into the next life if she very well pleased. He was lucky that she hadn't left him in Diagon Alley last night

"You made it very clear that you - how did you put it? - would never dream of _fucking_ a mudblood," she snapped, her fury from the night previous finally exploding. She had held it in for professionalism's sake last night, but now... There was no holding her back. "I can understand if you don't want to sleep with me. The last I checked your _type_ was busty blonde daft cows." She knew she was making low jabs at him, but quite honestly, she had stopped caring. "Quite frankly, I feel the same way about you. I couldn't sleep with you. We haven't exactly had the best of friendships in the past, either, so that is absolutely viable. _That_ I can understand. What astounds me is the fact that after six years, you still have yet to mature. You still use those disgusting slurs. I thought you had gotten past all of that, but obviously, I was wrong."

The color drained from Malfoy's face, and he began to stammer out a response. "G-Granger-"

She cut him off. "No. I don't want to hear your self-justification. I actually think you have overstayed your welcome," she snapped, standing from her seat at the table. She gathered her throw blanket around her shoulders and stood tall. "I want you out before I am finished with my shower. And you best be at the Ministry by eight, not nine like usual. There is a briefing, and be warned, you best not miss it. Also, if you come dressed like that-" she said, looking him up and down. "You'll have quite the earful from me. The next time you feel calling your boss by disgusting racial slurs is a good idea, you best think twice."

Without giving him a chance to speak, Hermione gathered her coffee and her wand and stalked off down the hall towards the bathroom. She shut the door behind her just a little too roughly. She didn't care, though. She was angry. This was her apartment. She could slam doors if she wanted. Hermione palmed the wall until she found the light switch. She flipped it on and crossed the average sized bathroom. She set her mug down on the back of the toilet after taking another hearty sip. Yes, he would need that to survive the day. Hermione turned on the showerhead with a quick flick of her wand and while the water took it time to warm up, she flipped on the vanity light. This was the first time she had gotten a real good look at her reflection that morning. Oh, she looked absolutely dreadful. Her eyes had deep purple bags underneath them and were ringed in red. Her hair, which was usually a mess to begin with, was now an absolute rat's nest. She groaned softly. How _presentable_ Hermione. She had been in front of one of her employees in such a state. This was not in the least bit professional. Sure, he had been just as disheveled as she was, but something about Malfoy made that okay. He made scruffy look good. How that was possible was beyond her...

NO! She could _not_ complement him. She was _angry_ with him. He deserved all of her anger and not a single drop of her kindness. He was a stupid prat.

Hermione stripped down and stepped under the steaming showerhead. Showers had a curious way of working, too. She found that some of her best thinking was done in the shower. She realized that they also seemed to remove some of the mounds of stress that had piled on her shoulders for at least a little while. They allowed her to think some things through clearly. And one of those events was the resignation of Harry Potter.

It was early May when he had first told her he was leaving...

_There was a knock on the doorframe of her office. She never left the entryway closed unless she was in the thick of her work. It was still early and she was only just settling in. She had yet to close it. Her visitor had taken this opportune moment to speak to her. Hermione looked up to find Harry standing in her doorway. He had a calm expression on his features._

_"Good morning, Harry," she said, a smile gracing her lips._

_"Good morning, 'Mione," he said, taking this as her welcoming him into the room. He shut the door behind him. Whatever he had to say must have been rather important if that were the case. If he were simply catching up, then he would have left the door wide open._

_"Take a seat. Tell me what's on your mind; it's obviously something if you felt we needed to have a private conversation," Hermione observed._

_Harry smiled sheepishly. "You know me too well. Might as well get on with it then." He paused, looking down at his hands which were folded in his lap. "Professor McGonagall has offered me a position at Hogwarts as the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor."_

_The happy expression immediately fell from Hermione's face. Harry was leaving. Merlin, this was a blow. He was such a skilled auror. He had faced Lord Voldemort and succeeded at eighteen. Since the Battle of Hogwarts, he had tracked down and caught countless former Death Eaters. He best have a damned good reason for wanting to leave._

_She was about to open her mouth to argue when he raised a hand to stop her. "Hear me out, 'Mione, please," he said. She nodded. She owed him that at the very least. She had to allow him to defend himself before she went off on a rant._

_"In the last few years, I've loved this position as the Head of Aurors, but this isn't me, Hermione... In all the time I've spent here... This has never been me, at least me alone. I would have never gotten this far if it weren't for your help. Tracking down the Horcruxes to stop Voldemort... I couldn't have done that without you. All of the most difficult cases that I've had since I became an Auror, you have been the one to help solve them, even when you were away at Hogwarts studying. It has been you. None of it has been me."_

_"Harry, I don't see how that matters. The other aurors help each other all the time-" she said, but he cut her off._

_"This is the fight I was forced into as a child, Hermione. I didn't really have a choice then, and deciding to become an auror during school only seemed fitting. Actually becoming one after the war seemed to be the only rational thing... But I've realized that that is just not..._ Me. _And with Ginny pregnant with our first child, I'd rather be close to her. I may be the boy who lived, but I can still die, Hermione. I don't want to leave her alone with a child. I can't have my children raised without a father just as I was..." Harry trailed off. There was a long silence before he continued. "We've found a house just outside of Hogsmeade. I can travel back and forth if I'd like. McGonagall even said she could live on the grounds if the need ever came..." he said, his brows furrowed over his green eyes. "It's not just that... I - I want to teach at Hogwarts. Some of the best moments I had there were when I was teaching Dumbledore's Army. I want to do that again. I want to watch future witches and wizards improve and hone their skills, 'Mione. I want to train them to protect themselves. I don't want there to be another Tom Riddle - or, or - Gellert Grindelwald in this world. We can't_ afford _that. I want to stop them before they become evil and twisted."_

_How could she argue with that logic? She couldn't. Every word that left his lips was true. He had been happy teaching the DA. He had been happy watching them progress. And he was passionate about stopping Dark Wizards, but doing it here, when they had already caused damage, was not the right place for him. He needed to be that factor of early intervention. She understood that. And that is why she could not decline his resignation._

_"Alright..."_

_"I have to ask one thing of you, though, Hermione," Harry said hesitantly._

_"What is that?"_

_"Allow me to pick who succeeds me. I know my aurors better than anyone. I know who will be the best candidate."_

_Hermione nodded. Again, he was right. She wasn't sure how well she liked Harry consistently being correct. It left her a little thrown. "I'll allow it."_

_"I'll let you know who it is before I leave, 'Mione. I promise."_

He had told her that in May, and now it was late August. He had yet to tell her who would succeed him as Head of the Auror Department. She had demanded last week that he tell her by Monday who would take his position. She couldn't figure it out at the last minute who would be taking the position just below her. That would be far too much stress on top of the Fenrir Greyback predicament... Oh, Harry just had to leave so soon...

That was only one of the topics that were stuck on her mind. The other was, of course, Malfoy. In the midst of her shower, she had realized how harsh she had been. Usually, she wasn't the kind of person to go off on someone without good reason. Malfoy didn't even remember saying half of what he had said. She had cut him off each time he had tried to speak. She hadn't allowed him to explain himself. She hadn't allowed him to say a word at all. She had gone off on him and then kicked him out. How gracious of a host she was... Still, drunkenness did not excuse his behavior the night previously, even if he did not remember it. If he could call her such awful name whilst he was drunk, then surely he could do it sober...

Yes, she did feel horrid for kicking him out, but she was still beyond angry with him. She was sure that anger would carry on through the rest of the morning as well.


	5. Three

**Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects**

_Its purpose was to confiscate fake protective spells and charmed objects (such as cursed sneakoscopes, or in one particular case, a medal that turned the user orange)._ **  
**

** ________________________________________   
**

**_Hermione Granger_ **

Her morning had been just as horrendous as she had thought it would be. She had left her house quite early and flooed to the Ministry from her fireplace in her living room at seven that morning. That was where the ease of the morning ended. As soon as she stepped foot into the Ministry of Magic, she was swamped by her curious and outraged colleagues. Hermione hadn't been in her office for more than half an hour, and she had consistent knocking on her door. Their questions all revolved around Greyback. How could she of let this happen? they asked. What was the Department of Magical Law Enforcement going to do? they asked. Hermione Granger doesn't _know_ all the answers? they asked. For the first time in her life, she wished that she hadn't been that insufferable know it all during school. She wished they would just go to Harry or one of the aurors or anyone _but her_. They were asking questions that she wasn't capable of answering just yet. She had hardly a clue as to the details of his escape. Sh had only told them that further updates would be made as the day wore on.

It wasn't until seven forty that she had realized that she was very nearly late for her seven forty-five meeting with Harry that she had scheduled on the previous Friday. She had to have that meeting before the briefing that she didn't realize she was going to be having at eight fifteen, and there was just no time. This meeting was when she was going to discover the new Head of Aurors. In the light of recent events, she truly hoped that Harry had made a wise decision. He hadn't been well known for those during his Hogwarts days. She also hoped that he could shed some light on the predicament with Fenrir Greyback.

Hermione strode towards Harry's office, the soles of her shoes swiftly moving across the floor. She was a woman on a mission. She wasn't going to be stopped by anyone aside from the Minister of Magic himself, and she really hoped that he hadn't found a reason to pester her, too. As much as she loved Kingsley Shacklebolt, she really just wanted to get some of her own problems out of the way before she addressed the concerns of others. She offered polite greetings to the other witches and wizards that she passed, but she never stopped for conversation. When she reached Harry's office, she knocked thrice before pushing open the door. She stepped inside and shut it behind her, a large breath escaping her lungs. Yes, she was thoroughly exhausted and it was hardly a quarter until eight.

Harry looked up from the copy of the Prophet that he had in his hands. His expression told his every emotion and concern. It was grim, that much was for certain. He smiled weakly at her before gesturing to the seat across from his desk. "You should take a seat, Hermione."

"As much as I love you, Harry, I don't exactly have time for this. You and I have got to brief the rest of the aurors on whatever the bloody hell is going on, and I have no clue about any of it. So please, just let me know who you've picked."

"Hermione, please, it's for the best. I'd rather you hear what I've got to say about this situation with Greyback before the rumors begin to fly and you find out through someone like Rita Skeeter," he said that grim expression on his face turning into one of concern. He tossed his copy of the Prophet down onto the table, staring at her with honest green eyes.

Hermione sighed and sat down before her friend. "What is so life-shattering that it requires me to sit down, Harry?"

"As you've probably realized, Greyback escaped Saturday evening during the full moon. Now, we've managed to keep it quiet for at least a few hours, but now that Rita Skeeter has let the snitch loose... Look, I just thought it'd be best to have you hear it from me before rumors are spread..." Harry began, averting his eyes to the Prophet and Greyback's photograph. "When Greyback escaped, he attacked one of the guards. And he told that guard some things... Things that have put anyone who knows on edge."

"Get on with it, Harry."

"He has a list of people he wants to... Transform, 'Mione. Who exactly is on that list, we are a little sketchy on. We believe that he is going after major players in the Battle of Hogwarts, but we haven't come to any positive conclusions. He did mention one person by name. We do know the identity of this target, and it is possible to protect them."

"Who is it? We need to get them into protective services immediately, Harry," she replied. She was fully prepared to defend and aid her fellow witches and wizards until her dying breath if that is what it came to. If getting them protected from a man such as Greyback was needed, then so be it.

"I know for a fact that they are not going to want any forms of protection," Harry said with a bitter smile.

"We'll just have to convince them that it's for their own good, then. It's better to be safe than sorry," she urged. She then recalled George's words. "Greyback holds grudges. You saw what he did to Remus Lupin, Harry. If he's going after key players in the Battle of Hogwarts, he is not going to stop until he has either succeeded or died trying. Protecting his targets is all we can do, and we _must_ do it no matter what."

"Can I hold you to that?" Harry asked.

"Of course you can. My word is my bond, Harry, and I mean it, I do. I want his targets protected. We can spare the manpower to protect the innocent."

"Then that's settled. You'll have the newly appointed Head of Auror posted at your flat each night, then, and possibly an additional one during the full moon."

A puzzled expression crossed Hermione's features. Why would she need aurors posted at _her_ flat? She wasn't the one that needed protecting. She wasn't any of Greyback's concern. There were others out there that he was targeting. Unless... "Harry, what are you saying?"

"He spoke of you by name, Hermione. His primary target is you," Harry said.

The witch's mouth opened to speak, but she snapped it closed again quickly. Greyback was targeting her just as George had suggested. But how would George of known that sort of information? If Harry was one of the few who knew any of that information yesterday when Greyback had first escaped, how could George of jumped so quickly to that conclusion?

"You were the one who told George about Greyback," she concluded, her lips falling into a frown. Hermione's head was spinning. She was a target of a vicious werewolf and former Death Eater. She was his _primary_ target. Her life was being threatened, and no one had thought it important to tell her? She would have had protective wards and charms around her flat in an instant if she had known. "Why didn't you just tell me yourself?"

"I didn't want to alarm you before we were sure of anything, but seeing as how that guard is hell bent on his story, I had to. I told George to feed you just a little bit of information to set you on edge. You needed to be aware of Greyback just as a precaution, Hermione."

The witch stood from her seat quickly. Merlin, she was a complete and utter _mess_. Her life was just getting more and more complicated. And with Harry leaving, she was going to have so much weight on her shoulders. She knew Harry inside and out. They worked well together. She knew what he was thinking before he had even said it. She had helped solve so many of his cases. And he was leaving in only a few days in the midst of a _crisis_. She felt so alone with all of the weight on her shoulders.

"Does this still mean you're leaving the Ministry?" she asked hopefully. She knew that answer, though, before Harry could even shake his head in denial. "Then please, give me just a ray of hope and tell me you've picked someone qualified."

"Well he ought to be," Harry said, "because that qualified someone will be the one in charge of your safety. He will be watching your flat each night."

"You are not considering placing security around _me_ , are you? Harry, I am a more than capable witch. We don't need to waste the manpower on _me_."

"Hermione, you said so yourself. These people need to be protected, and that is exactly what I intend to have done. Greyback will _change_ you. I am not taking that risk. There is no discussion in this matter."

"Harry James Potter, don't you _dare_ tell _me_ if I do or do not need protection," Hermione shrilled. She was pacing back and forth in front of his desk. Merlin, she was livid. She was fully prepared to hex Harry for even suggestion something like that. "I believe it necessary for others, but for _me?_ I am more than qualified to protect myself."

"I've already spoken to the Shacklebolt. He wholeheartedly agrees with me. You don't have a choice in this matter."

Hermione stopped pacing and stared at Harry. How _dare_ he go behind her back and issue her services she did not need? How _dare_ he? Her fingers curled into fists, and her features contorted with rage. She wanted to scream at him, to tell him he was being foolish, but she knew that once his mind was made up, there was no changing it. There wasn't any time to fight with him anyways. Instead, she resumed her stride.

"Who is it that is replacing you?"

"Well, I believe he is the most qualified that we will find."

"You _believe_? You can't _believe_ you've picked someone qualified, Harry. You have to _know_. This isn't exactly something you can be unsure on."

There was a prolonged silence before Harry found it in himself to speak to her. He seemed very hesitant, afraid even. Was he fearful of her reaction? "It's Draco Malfoy."

Now, that one stopped her dead in her tracks. She had not expected that name to fall from Harry's lips. That fearful expression was warranted. "What do you _mean_ it's _Draco Malfoy?_ " she shrilled, her hands falling to her hips. "He is a _former Death Eater_ , Harry. I know the Ministry trusted him enough to hire him as an auror, but there is no may I can _permit_ his rise as Head of Aurors. That would just be foolish."

"That is exactly why I've chosen him. It is _because_ he is a former Death Eater that made his qualifications perfect. Look, I don't exactly _like_ Malfoy, either, Hermione, but he's the best candidate."

Hermione threw up her hands and groaned in frustration. How could Harry be doing this to her? Malfoy was a former Death Eater. He was notoriously prejudiced against the muggleborns in the wizarding community. He was a rich, little prat who slept around. How did that prove him trustworthy and responsible enough to take on such a prestigious position?

"Look, 'Mione, this isn't something I did on a whim. I tested them. I gave Malfoy and Dawlish both the same fake case. Dawlish, as experienced as he is, immediately went out into the field to speak to witnesses," Harry said, staring at Hermione with the calmest of expression. How he could be so calm was beyond her, but she listened to him anyways. "It took Dawlish nearly a month to realize that there had never been a dark wizard by the name of Roonil Wazlib and that I had pulled that case together by picking apart a few old cases and adding a bit of my own."

Hermione snorted. She would have much rather John Dawlish as the head of the department, but even she could have spotted the fallacy. What cruel kind of mother would have named their child 'Roonil Wazlib'? She also knew the name because of Ron's potions book from sixth year, but that was beside the point.

"Malfoy, on the other hand, thinks like a dark wizard. He stormed into my office not twenty minutes after giving him the file, accusing me of wasting his time," Harry said. "I asked him why, and he told me exactly what I wanted to hear. This wizard had absolutely no pattern, and _every_ dark wizard had a pattern. Said that even if he was a mimic of some of the more notorious cases we've had in the past, which he seemed to be, he had missed crucial a point. Dark wizard _don't_ leave their victims alive unless they have a reason to, like Greyback, which is ruining it with lycanthropy. My faux dark wizard left muggleborns maimed beyond all reason, but he left them alive. That was the catch that Dawlish didn't catch. Malfoy then proceeded to ask me where in Merlin's name I had gotten a ridiculous name like Roonil Wazlib before calling me a 'knob head' and storming off. He's a bit of a prat, Hermione, but he's the best candidate."

Hermione groaned loudly again and slumped back down in front of Harry, absolutely defeated. How could she deny that? Draco had been around dark wizards since his date of birth. His father was part of Voldemort's inner circle. He saw dark wizards close up nearly every day of his life until he turned eleven. How could he _not_ know their minds by now?

"Fine. I'll stand by your decision, but I can't say the same for the rest of the aur-" she stopped mid-sentence, a thought occurring to her. Harry had said that the auror that was detailed to her case was going to be the Head of Aurors. Her jaw dropped in shock, and she straightened in her seat. No, he couldn't possibly mean... "Does that mean _he_ is going to be the one standing outside of my flat every night, Harry?"

"Hermione, you can't argue with me. Shacklebolt has approved of this, too."

"You can't just go behind my back every time you think I'm going to argue with one of my decisions, Harry!" she snapped. Hermione ran her hands over her weary face, a heavy sigh escaping her lips. "You don't need to protect me, Harry. I'm more than capable of protecting myself without Malfoy's help. He's the last person I'd be willing to accept it from, especially after what he said to me last night."

"What happened last night?"

"He showed up in front of Flourish and Blotts absolutely _sloshed_. And then he proceeded to call me a mudblood. I mean, I let him sleep on my sofa, but I kicked him out this morning. He is such a prat, Harry."

"I'm sorry about what he's said to you, Hermione, but he is the most qualified person to protect you. And don't you say you don't need protecting. Not even you can protect yourself in your sleep, Hermione."

The woman groaned loudly. She simply could not wait until Greyback was captured and the threat on her life was gone. The next few weeks - she hoped it would only be weeks - were going to be unbearable with Malfoy constantly around.

{This time skip is brought to you in part by the people who gave Hermione Granger a Time Turner because of her 'potential'.}

"Thank you, everyone, for coming into the Ministry early upon my request. As the majority of you may already know, Fenrir Greyback escaped from Azkaban late Saturday evening during the last full moon. According to witnesses, he has a list of targets, but we know for sure very few of them, those including Neville Longbottom, Sybil Trelawney, and Lavender Brown. It is believed that they had participated in the Battle of Hogwarts and led to his downfall in some way, shape or form. It is your job to find those targets. We have to protect them at all cost. If Greyback goes after any one of them, it will be not only an opportune moment to capture him, but it also our duty to protect our fellow wizards."

There were a few nods around the room, but otherwise, everyone remained silent. That had been a lot easier than Hermione had expected it to go. She had thought she was going to be slammed with questions. That had been the exact opposite.

"As Head of Aurors, Potter will give you the details on each of your designated participants of the Battle. He will also be leaving us come the end of the week to teach students Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts."

That statement was met with a few grumbles of irritation. Many had voiced their opposition to the idea of Harry leaving the department when it had been first announced in May. He had been a beacon of hope throughout the years. They looked up to him despite his young age. Hermione paid no mind to their grumbles and instead looked throughout the small crowd of aurors for a certain blonde. When her brown gaze did not find who she was looking for, she frowned.

"I have selected Auror, Draco Malfoy, to succeed me as Head of Auror Office. I know that this may not be who you would have thought would succeed me, but I don't want to hear the arguments," Harry said, his voice full of authority. "Now, Malfoy couldn't be here this morning, so I don't want any of you to give him any problems when you see him later on. You're all adults and you best act like it."

A few more things were announced at the briefing and then the aurors were dismissed to do their respective tasks. That was when Hermione went in for the kill.

"Why isn't he here, Harry?" Hermione hissed.

Harry looked at his friend with an uncomfortable expression and he whispered back, "He owled me this morning that he couldn't come in for the briefing. It's not exactly at my discretion to disclose."

"You act like I give a damn."

"I'll send him by your office as soon as he gets in, Hermione, and you can brief him, but I swore to him I'd keep his personal business just that - personal."

Hermione groaned for a final time and crossed her arms over her chest. "Whose side are you on, exactly, Harry?"

"I've said it once, and I'll say it again, we're all adults. There aren't sides anymore," Harry stated.

Hermione narrowed her brown gaze at her friend. "Make sure he is in my office before lunch, Harry." With that, she turned on her heel and left the Auror Office.

For the next few hours until noon, Hermione sat in her office, doing paperwork as she usually did. She didn't leave once for the fear of running into more questions that she didn't really want to answer. Her colleagues that their own best interest at heart, and she didn't have time for that. She had others to worry about.

Just as she was preparing to leave for her lunch, there was a knock on the door of her office, and with a flick of her wand, it opened. She had instructed her secretary to deny anyone admittance to her office door that wasn't either above her pay grade or Malfoy and Harry. She honestly hoped it wasn't Shacklebolt coming to question her yet again. He had done that twice already since she had gotten back to her office. She had nothing more to tell him. In the last hour, there hadn't been any new developments on the Fenrir Greyback case, and that is all he requested to hear about. She had plenty of other things she could talk to him about, such as the muggles who found a broomstick and were flying through the streets of London. She had loads, but this was all that was anyone's mind and not the Statute of Secrecy.

Much to both her utter joy and chagrin, the person that had entered was neither Harry not Shacklebolt. It was Draco Malfoy, just as she had requested. He swaggered on into her office, dressed impeccably. He had missed the briefing, yes, but he had heeded her warning about dress. As he approached her desk, the candles that lit the room flared brightly.

"Someone is still overtired," he retorted, observing the flames. "You asked to see me, Granger?"

"Why weren't you at the briefing?" she snapped, leaning back in her chair.

"Potter should have mentioned I had some business to attend to," he said casually. He stood in front of her in a relaxed sort of position. His nonchalance only made her blood boil even more.

"Business more important than your next case?" she asked.

"Yes, and with the number of cases I receive and solve as quickly as possible, I figured this one could wait until I had a handle on my own life," he said, his gaze narrowing in a defiant sort of way.

Hermione stood from her desk and gather her cloak and wand together, ignoring what he had just said. "I trust you've seen the morning's Prophet."

"No, actually," Malfoy said, standing as well. "I don't read the Prophet."

"Well, I suggest you start," she said, picking up a file with the details of his responsibilities on this case along with a copy of the Daily Prophet. "Fenrir Greyback escaped from Azkaban Saturday evening. Congratulations on being named Head of Aurors. You're on the case. You start tomorrow evening."

With that, Hermione left her office, not looking back once to see the expression on Malfoy's face. She only wished she had.


	6. Four

**Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office**

_Regulates the use of magic on Muggle objects and tries to keep items that have been bewitched away from Muggles._

_ **______________________________________** _

_**Draco Malfoy** _

Draco woke in the dim, grey morning light with a throbbing in his skull. This hadn’t been the first time he had had this happen, but it only seemed to get worse each time he got particularly pissed. Merline, he couldn’t remember anything from the night previous, and this headache wasn’t helping. He vaguely remembered Tom, the owner of the Leaky Cauldron, kicking him out of the establishment with Nott and Zabini sometime around midnight, but what had happened afterward was a complete mystery. Had Nott and Zabini taken him home? They had to of. They were a lot less pissed than he was. They would have had better chances of apparating than he had. But had those arseholes deposited him on the couch? Couldn't they help him to his room like good friends? There had been so many nights where they had gotten absolutely sloshed, and he had carried them up the stairs. Still, he was too tired to move.

Draco rolled onto his side and groaned. He could smell coffee brewing from not far away, which was strange. His kitchens were too far away for that scent to carry to the living room. He opened his eyes just a crack to get a good look. Had his house elves set up in his living room? Or was it... His thoughts were stopped short. He wasn’t sure _where_ he was. Draco sat up and took a look around in the dim lighting. This didn’t look like either Nott or Zabini’s flats. It couldn’t have been Parkinson’s, either. Even though he hadn’t spent loads of time there, he _knew_ what they looked like. So where the bloody fuck was he? Did he go off and sleep with a girl and not remember it? He wouldn’t have been surprised. He had done that often in his youth just after Hogwarts, and after what he had drank last night... He probably had. That could be the only explanation for it. Unless he had been nabbed off the streets, in which case he wouldn’t have had his wand.

...Whose familiar weight he did not feel against his thigh like he normally did. He began to search frantically for the extension of his arm. He spotted after a moment or two, laying innocently on the coffee table across from the sofa he was laying on. He hadn’t put it there. He never slept without his wand. Whoever brought him here had left it on the table. That meant he hadn’t been nabbed. He would have at the very least lost possession of his wand. Draco looked around once more, taking in his surroundings. It was then that he spotted a feminine figure at the kitchen table in the next room over. Her recognized her, with her curly mess of hair and pale skin. He _knew_ who she was.

“Granger?” he asked. His voice was nothing now compared to his usual tenor. It was scratchy and dry from lack of use. His throat felt like sandpaper.

“Good morning, Malfoy,” she said. She took a sip of what he could only assume was coffee and stood from the table. There was a blanket swaddled around her shoulders. She looked as if she had just gotten out of bed. Knowing her, she probably had, but who the hell would get up this early? It had to be around five a.m. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

It then struck him. What the _bloody fuck_ was he doing in _Granger’s_ house? Surely he didn’t go home with _her_. He would have remembered shagging _Hermione Granger_. What had he done last night? He had gone out to celebrate his promotion at the Leaky Cauldron with Zabini, Nott, and Parkinson.

Potter was leaving the Auror Department to go teach at Hogwarts. The change was very much welcomed by Draco. He couldn’t have been more ecstatic. He had come to respect Potter as the years had gone by, but he couldn’t deny that he was glad to see him go. That would mean less contact with the completed Golden Trio of Hogwarts.

Potter he had tolerated. They never had any spats like the used to. They had their occasional words of greeting, and sometimes even spoke on a particularly troublesome case, but he had never gone out to drink with him or anything.

Weaselbee, on the other hand, found it his sworn duty to breathe down Draco’s neck at all times. He seemed to be waiting for him to swap over to the dark side. Little did Weaselbee know, the closest he would ever come to that was killing the bloody ginger himself for standing too close to him.

Granger, however, Draco rarely saw more than once or twice a week, and he never spoke to her personally. As head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, she had quite a busy schedule. She was never in the Auror’s Department unless something had gone wrong, and she had to put her foot down. On occasion, she visited the Weaselbee at his desk, but more often than not, he saw her leaving Potter’s office. They often had meetings discussing what was going on with the Aurors and their cases. If he didn’t know better, he would have thought they were having some sort of affair, but he knew just how loyal Potter was to his beloved Weaslette. They had been married the previous summer and were expecting their first child or something like that. If they were still at Hogwarts, however, he might have taken place in starting that rumor. Then again, maybe not... That wasn’t exactly the best idea, not with that temper of hers. No, Granger was all business with Potter. She and Draco had hardly spoken since their Hogwarts days, though. Sometimes he had wished they would; he had grown quite the admiration for her work ethic and strength since he first met her. He figured, however, that she’d want nothing to do with him. He had been quite horrible, he had to admit that. With this new job, he’d see her more often. Maybe he could amend the past...

Still, with one member of the Golden Trio leaving, his life would be just a bit better. Yes, Potter’s resignation was welcomed. By leaving, he didn’t force the rest of the Department into his shadow. It also left his position open for someone else. He just hoped it wasn’t Dawlish. He had lost his touch after the war.

And much to Draco’s surprise, it was not Dawlish who had gotten the position. It was he himself who would be taking over for Potter come Tuesday morning. Potter had called Draco and Dawlish to his office two months previously to give them their next case which they’d be sharing. The case was focused on a Dark Wizard dubbed Roonil Wazlib. Dawlish had set off immediately. He had said something about refusing to work with a Death Eater. Draco didn’t really care, though; he received those _kind_ words more often than not. He had instead gone off to read the file. And after reading he realized that this case and this wizard was an absolute _joke_.

First off, he had left his victims alive and fully coherent of what had happened to them. As a Dark Wizard who shouldn’t have been looking to be caught, that was a crucial mistake. Witnesses only made it easier to prove a wizard guilty. Also, his methods of attacking were closely related to those of a few combined Dark Wizards from the 70s and 80s. There was no rhyme or reason to those methods, either. They had been hashed together, it seemed. There was absolutely no pattern. They were all muggleborns that had been attacked, yes, but there was no other link. No gender or age link. These people didn’t seem to have any relation he could pinpoint right off. He seemed to be attacking aimlessly. He was confused. This was not how a Dark Wizard acted, not a good one at least. This guy seemed entirely random and idiotic. He couldn’t be, though. Figuring out that each of his victim's names and their blood status was a difficult task. How could someone so calculated be such a mess?

That was then it clicked with him. The case he was working on was a load of garbage. And Dawlish hadn’t realized anything was wrong. He was tempted to go after the man to tell him just that, but instead, he stalked off to Potter’s office to demand a different case. He wasn’t going to work on that had absolutely no end. This _Roonil Wazlib_ was made up. Draco had marched right on into Potter’s office and told him just that. He had even called him a knobhead, which was tactless, but nonetheless, he figured he got his point across. There was no bloody fucking way he’d work a bogus case.

Potter had come to him not an hour after he had told him off for wasting his time. He had fully expected to be suspended at the very least, if not fired, but much to his surprise, he wasn’t. Just as he was about to apologize to Potter - yes, the mighty Draco Malfoy, about to apologize to _Potter_ \- when the man had cut him off. He told him that after he left, he wanted Draco to succeed him as the Head of the Auror Department. That was the closest form of kindness Potter had ever shown him. They had had this unspoken sort of truce after the way, but this... was different.

Nonetheless, Draco had gone out to celebrate his last few hours of freedom before work took over his life. He had gone to the Leaky Cauldron with his friends for a drink and had gotten absolutely pissed. He could hardly hold himself upright, and now he was in _Granger’s house?_

He couldn’t bring himself to coherently answer her question. He was too awestruck and delirious. The only thing he could think to ask... “Where the hell am I?” Yes, he had so much class. He was showing such great respect for his host...

“My flat,” she said. She had started to pour a mug of coffee, and Draco couldn’t deny that he genuinely wanted it. He figured the caffeine would take the edge off of his hangover just a bit. “Do you take milk and sugar in your coffee?”

“Milk, no sugar,” he said almost immediately. He stood from where he was sitting on Granger’s couch and slowly entered the kitchen. Her back was to him; she stood making his coffee in front of the counter. “Why am I here? What the hell happened last night?”

He heard Granger hum, and a few moments passed while she set his mug on the table before she actually replied to his question. The answer was one he’d have preferred not to hear. “I was coming home last night, and I found you outside of _Flourish and Blotts_ , absolutely sloshed. That wasn’t very professional of you as an auror, might I add.”

The way she said those words, oh it just reminded him of what a _know it all_ the woman was. He couldn’t stand the way she answered every last question back in Hogwarts, and he couldn’t stand how she could pick him apart with that calculated brown gaze of hers.

“I didn’t ask you to critique my professionalism, Granger. I asked you why I was _here_ ,” he said, his face contorted in distaste.

Yes, it was gormless of him to pick fights with his host, but how could he not when she was so irritating? After shoving his wand in the waistband of his jeans, Draco picked up the mug of coffee from Granger’s kitchen table. The fingers of his left hand set to work on massaging his temples. This headache of his was merciless. He only hoped that coffee would help. He wasn’t exactly fond of taking a pepperup potion for a hangover. He sighed heavily and leaned against the wall, keeping his distance from her. He didn’t feel comfortable sitting at her table quite yet. He figured he’d never set foot in the flat again, so there was no point in trying to make himself comfortable.

Well, seeing as how you were thoroughly incapacitated, you would have gotten yourself splinched if you had tried to apparate,” she said in a single breath. She spoke just as quickly as she did when she was a first year. It was as if she said it all in one breath because she was too afraid she’d forget what she had been going on about if she took a break to breathe. Still, he could not argue with her logic.

“And where exactly is _here_?” he asked.

“Above Flourish and Blotts.”

He scoffed. That was so typical of Granger. Some old habits seemed to die hard. “Only you would find enjoyment out of living above a bookshop.”

“Well,” she said. Her voice hitched as she said the words. It was one of those telltale signs that Granger was getting flustered. “I’ll have you know that it is actually quite convenient. When I’m on a case-”

“Granger, quite frankly, I couldn’t give a damn as to whether or not it's convenient. I was just stating a fact,” he snapped. He had said the words before he could stop them. There he went. He was entirely classless. He was snapping at his host, a girl who he had tormented during school. He was lucky enough she showed him the kindness and mercy to let him sleep on her sofa when he was incapacitated. He held his tongue for a few moments before he said something that left him in an even worse situation. After a moment, he said, “I don’t exactly remember what happened last night, but with my record for... one offs... We didn’t... You know... Did we?”

Granger’s brows furrowed, and her face screwed up in a sort of confused way. She was like that for only a moment. Realization spread across her features and she flushed a bright crimson. “Oh, Merlin, no. _Never_. That would have been horrific.”

Draco couldn’t help but snort. She was embarrassed. If this weren’t Granger in front of him, he would have thought the scrunched brow, blushing, and embarrassment was cute, but it was, in fact, Granger. He couldn’t say those things about her. Those sort of compliments didn’t fit their history. It would have been too strange for comfort. He may have said those things years ago in school, but now... No... Instead of voicing these thoughts, he instead resorted to his usual confident nature.

“I can’t help but say I’m hurt. I didn’t realize you’d think me that bad of a shag, Granger,” he said, throwing in a smirk for good measure.

And that was when it had all gone to hell. All of their civility ended right there. He wasn’t sure what he had done wrong to change her behavior so suddenly.

“After last night’s display, that isn’t even coming to mind as a consideration. Don’t you think I’d _ever_ consider something like _that_ with you. _Especially_ with _you_.”

And this is why he had stopped going out. He often had trouble remembering what had happened the night before, and this was one of those. He had obviously said something to upset her the night previous. He was surely going to face her wrath now...

“What did I say to you?” he asked warily. He couldn’t provoke her any more than he already had. Granger was a powerful witch. She was absolutely brilliant. Draco was able to best everyone in school aside from her. She was always on top. She was brilliant, and he was terrified of her when she was angry, especially in this state where he was delirious and hungover.

“You made it very clear that you - how did you put it? - would never dream of _fucking_ a mudblood,” she snapped.

Yes, he had fucked up. Draco shuddered at the thought of those words. The way she had said them... She was repeating him. He had made a huge mistake. It had been gormless of him to say something like that, even when drunk. The word hadn’t left his lips since before the war. Even in Voldemort’s presence, he didn’t use the term. He generally avoided referring to muggleborns as a whole back then, but he had gotten drunk and that forced his filters from his mind. Oh, he had majorly screwed himself. He was surprised Granger hadn’t _already_ hexed him.

“I can understand if you don’t want to sleep with me. The last I checked your _type_ was busty blonde daft cows.”

Now, that was a low blow. He was _not_ fond of busty blondes. It had been one time that he had been caught with a blonde, and that had been years ago. The Prophet reporter, Rita Skeeter, had caught him _one_ time leaving an inn with a blonde, and he never seemed to live down that reputation.

“Quite frankly, I feel the same way about you. I couldn’t sleep with you. We haven’t exactly had the best of friendships in the past, either, so that is absolutely viable. _That_ I can understand. What astounds me is the fact that after six years, you still have yet to mature. You still use those disgusting slurs. I thought you had gotten past all of that, but obviously, I was wrong.”

Draco paled. No, he had not been intended for this. He had hoped to leave Granger’s on a light note. He figured that he’d make some sort of good impression on his boss. Seeing as how he had no filter on his damned mouth, that was never going to happen. He had to apologize for calling her the slur. It was the only thing he could do, the only thing that made sense. It was entirely against his character, but he’d much rather stay on the witch’s good side if he was going to answer to her from this point on.

“G-Granger-” he stammered, but he was quickly cut off.

“No. I don’t want to hear your self-justification. I actually think you have overstayed your welcome,” she snapped, standing from her seat at the table. She gathered her throw blanket around her shoulders and stood tall. “I want you out before I am finished with my shower. And you best be at the Ministry by eight, not nine like usual. There is a briefing, and be warned, you best not miss it. Also, if you come dressed like that-” Granger scanned him with a disgusted look on her features. “You’ll have quite the earful from me. The next time you feel calling your boss by disgusting racial slurs is a good idea, you best think twice.”

Granger, his boss, as she had pointed out, was pissed at him. She had thrown him out of her flat in an instant. His embarrassment had only increased after that. His day only seemed to get worse, much to his desperate attempts to fix it. An emergency had occurred at the Manor, one that was imperative for him to attend to. A certain young lady at the manor had needed his attention. He had owled Potter and told him briefly of the situation, but against Granger’s threats and his own better judgment, he had arrived late to the Ministry. He missed the briefing Granger had spoken of entirely. The witch had warned him that she could and would make his life a living hell. She may not have exactly said those words, but the message was as clear as day to him. And oddly enough, she seemed to want to do just that.

He was on the Fenrir Greyback case, a case in which he’d not expected to arise. He hadn’t even heard of the werewolf’s escape from Azkaban, but with his day to day struggles, he wasn’t surprised. He never read the Prophet; he never had the time, not with running the Manor and his work fulltime as an auror. Still, he did not want this case. He had had enough of Greyback in the past. The man was not only crazy, but he was also dangerous. He changed people for fun. He had _acquired_ a taste for human flesh. He was not someone Draco wanted to cross paths with again, but seeing as how Granger had given him the case directly, it seemed that he didn’t really have a choice.

Now, in the dark hours of the night, Draco and his house elves were the only ones inside of Malfoy Manor who were awake. The aforementioned young lady, Cassi was her name, had long since fallen asleep in his bed, nestled in his mountain of pillows and comforters. Draco sat in his office, relaxing for the first time in hours. It had been a long evening. Cassi had stolen all of his attention from the moment he walked through the fireplace until she had gone to bed. It had been an exhausting evening, to say the least.

He had taken this time, in the solitude of his home, to take a good look at the case file Granger had given him. It was thinner than the ones he usually received, meaning he had nothing to work with. A sense of dread washed over him as he opened the file. He had a feeling that this case would soon consume his entire attention. He’d never have time to spend at home...

The first thing Draco saw was a photograph of Fenrir Greyback. He stared ahead at Draco, his lips curled into a cruel snarl. His eyes were narrowed slightly in what seemed to be accusation. It was as if Greyback knew Draco had betrayed all of the Death Eaters and joined the aurors. It was as if he knew it all. He quickly flipped past the photograph and began reading the little information he had been provided with.

The first portion of the file gave background into Fenrir Greyback. It gave the history of his first run in with the ministry and how he had bitten and infected Remus Lupin after Lupin’s father had enraged the werewolf. It was listed that Greyback wanted to infect any wizard that he could with his lycanthropic curse. His motives after his escape were not all that clear, but it seemed as though he wanted revenge for his fate after the way. So many witches and wizards had attributed to his downfall. There was far too much ground to cover if he was going after from the War. No, Greyback would have selected a few targets in specific. He couldn’t help but think one of those was to be Harry Potter.

Just as he suspected, that seemed to be the case. As far as he could tell, Greyback had a list of targets that were unknown to the Ministry and its aurors. Each one had a page outlining their description and their affiliation to Greyback. They also had their target’s background listed as well. Some of the possible targets listed were Neville Longbottom, Lavender Brown, Sybill Trelawney, and Harry Potter himself, but those would have been inconsequential changes to the wizarding community. They didn’t seem to fit the man’s character, though. Longbottom was, dare Draco say it, _smart_ enough to avoid Greyback. He simply had to stay behind the wards of Hogwarts and arm himself with the wand that chosen him, and he’d be fine. That Gryffindor heart of his would make him impossible to bend towards Greyback’s will if he were changed. Brown had already been attacked, and she was hardly coping with that. She wasn’t even a werewolf. She simply had the tendencies of one such as a love for raw meat. She could barely hold herself upright, let alone change with every full moon. Greyback would never find a use for her. Trelawny was far too old to be helpful. Besides, Draco figured that Greyback would get annoyed by the mere sound of her voice if she were to become a werewolf. She was also safely secured behind the wards of Hogwarts. She wasn’t a likely target either. Greyback wouldn’t have gone after Potter directly, though; the Golden Boy was too well protected to be attacked by the werewolf. He was also a hell of a lot stronger than Greyback. He’d stun the man and leave him for the rest of the aurors to clean up while he brandished his wand. Greyback wasn’t a threat to Harry Potter. The four of them didn’t seem like ideal targets.

No, he’d go just a step or two below Potter’s fame. And seeing as how everything concerning the War related back to him, Draco couldn’t help but believe that this case was once again linked to Harry Potter. He had ended the War by killing Voldemort. He had been the leading cause of the incarceration of the Death Eaters. Potter had caused so much damage to Greyback’s life. He couldn’t believe that the werewolf was going after people who had attacked him. That would have been to inconsequential to him... He would want to make a larger mark. Like any of the Death Eaters, he wanted to destroy Potter, and maybe he could by attacking the people Potter cared about. No, the names on their list weren’t exactly the best of friends with the Chosen One, but they were a start.

As he scanned the rest of the parchment, looking for something more. He needed more information, and the little he had wasn’t helping. After reaching the next sheet after Trelawney that outlined a target, he found the name of one person that fit that exact description. She was a prominent figurehead. She was strong and important, and she was close to Potter. That name was circled in red ink. Next to it, written in Potter’s messy scrawl, were the words ‘confirmed target’. That name was all too recognizable. The photograph of the target was too familiar for his liking. The woman in the photo laughed happily as if she had been told a funny joke. She obviously had been around someone entertaining, probably Weaselbee or Potter. He hadn’t seen the witch laugh like that around anyone else...

Hermione Granger was Greyback’s first confirmed target. It was said that Greyback had mentioned her specifically by name. He had marked her as his prey. He wanted the Ministry to know this information because when he attacked - and he certainly would - he wanted to stick it to them that they couldn’t stop him. He was sure of it. Greyback was a proud man. He was proud and dangerous, and a threat to Granger if she wasn’t careful.

Draco flipped to the final page of the file that detailed his responsibilities on the case. Immediately, the parchment crinkled under his fingers as they curled tightly inwards. He noted, dully, that this would enrage a person like Granger who idolized her books, but he didn’t care. As he read on, his grip tightened again, and the parchment crinkled more. It was only when he saw the creases forming in the paper that he relaxed his hold. There was no point in destroying his own copy of the case because he was gradually becoming more and more pissed. But, it was the details of his specific job on the case that had set him off. As far as he could tell, he was in charge of protecting a specified target of Greybacks. It sounded as if he would be babysitting an incompetent witch or wizard. He bit back an annoyed groan. That was the last thing he had wanted. And as he read on, his dread only increase. It wasn’t just _any_ incompetent witch that he was going to watch. It was the only known target herself.

For the next expanse of time, until Greyback was caught, Draco would be protecting Hermione Granger.

{This time skip is brought to you in part by the people who granted a choice to the Boy who had not one.}

Draco slammed the file down on the desk that was bound to become his by the end of the afternoon, his face twisted into a scowl. He stared down at the raven-haired man, the irritation quite evident on his features.

“What the bloody fuck are you playing at?” he snapped.

Potter looked up from the Daily Prophet he was reading to look at the fuming blonde. “Good morning, Malfoy. Take a seat.”

Draco ignored the professional gesture and stood in front of Potter’s desk, arms crossed over his chest. “Enough with the pleasantries, Potter. What the hell is _that?_ ”

“Your case file.”

The blond rolled his eyes. Potter would be the one to play dumb. “You assigned _Granger_ to _me_. What the hell?”

The man behind the desk simply shrugged and continued to scan the Prophet in front of him. God, that damned Golden boy could be so infuriating. Draco started pacing in front of him, taking a look at the office that was bound to be his as well.

“Granger is more than capable of protecting herself, and with how stubborn she is, I don’t know how you got her to agree to have protection.”

“I didn’t need her to agree. The minister already gave me his approval,” Potter said.

Draco’s jaw almost dropped. Potter had gone behind his best friend’s back to protect her. He had even gone as far as speaking to the Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt. That there quite the low blow. That still didn’t answer his question. Why had Potter chosen him? “That still doesn’t explain your actions, Saint Potter. Why am _I_ watching Granger? Last I checked, she wasn’t exactly fond of me.”

“Because I can’t do it myself.”

“Stay back from Hogwarts until the case is finished. I’m sure McGonagall would understand the request of her _Golden Boy_.”

Potter snorted at Draco’s comment. “Even if I did that, I couldn’t take on her case. That would make catching Greyback a personal vendetta. It’s a conflict of interest. I can’t be a part of this case at all. It came just as I was stepping, which couldn’t be more convenient, even though the rest of the wizarding world doesn’t seem to think that. They don’t seem all that fond of either of us right now, but someone’s got to take the case, and I believe as the new head of the Auror Department, you’re the best option.”

Potter tossed down the copy of the Prophet he was reading, and Draco caught a glimpse of the headline.

**‘GOLDEN BOY LEAVES MINISTRY JUST AS GREYBACK CASE ARRISES. LEAVES FORMER DEATH EATER IN HIS PLACE’**

“That’s... Quite the headline. I’m assuming Skeeter’s work?” Draco said, rubbing the back of his neck.

The man in front of his nodded grimly. “It will take a lot of effort to get them to warm up to you, but they will. You don’t have to prove anything to them, either. You haven’t always had a choice, Malfoy, but you are now a man worth your choices.”


End file.
